An Axe Says Goodbye
by Sunny Day in February
Summary: His faithful axe... He had looked everywhere for her, but all he could find was a letter and some weird, yet stylish pattern on his carpet. Spain/War Axe. Pure crack. Really. It HURTS. Don't like it? Don't read it!


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

_A/n: …I don't know what the HELL I just wrote. _0_0; _I blame Tamer Lorika and the (friggin' hot) weather for it._

**~An Axe Says Goodbye~**

On a bright and sunny day, Antonio entered his bedroom to look for his most beloved weapon of all the fucked-up, crazy-assed weapons he had. England was visiting him, so he felt like chopping off some limbs .

What a wonderful day this would be!~

But when he went down on his knees and reached under his bed to grab his trusty axe, he felt nothing… except for some piece of… paper?

Antonio frowned and pulled it towards him. It was no ordinary piece of paper… no, it turned out to be a letter. Wow, unbelievable! Antonio never knew he had actual _stationary_ lying around his place!

Then the Spaniard saw the letter was addressed to him. Oh?

Well, might as well read it.

**XxX**

_Dear __**insensitive bastard**__ Spain,_

_Yes, you've seen it correctly, my love – I've left my loyal spot in your bedroom…  
__Soon enough, there will be nothing more left of my presence, except for a stylish motive in your gorgeous carpet…_

_(No, it won't go away.)_

_You certainly want to know why I have decided to leave, don't you, my Spanish corazón? Why, you might even want to stop me from leaving you and bring me back to __**use**__ and __**molest **__me some more… but you can't, Antonio, you can't. _

_Not anymore._

_It's too late for you…no, it's too late for __**us**__.  
__Oh, my love, we have made lots of wonderful memories, you and I… _

_Memories of __**poor and weak and downright stupid, worthless **__countries being __**shred apart**__ and memories of heads of innocent__** and foolish**__ people being __**chopped off with one simple swing and blood splashing everywhere, mhahahaha, yes, there goes another one!**__... thanks to our wonderful teamwork…_

_Ah, I still shiver whenever I think about those tender, loving memories… _

_Your warm, strong hands around my wooden stick…  
__Your wild, dashing reflection in my shining blade…  
__The red ribbon, carefully tied around my body by those luscious fingers of yours… ah, you did that almost every time we went out to __**kill some people mercilessly and have tomatoes after, YES, OH GOD YES, and some churros too, dip them in blood!**__…_

_Ah, yes yes…_

_Good times, Spain… very good times.  
__And even though you used me – you always used me, __**you pig**__, you even used me just yesterday – I still felt respected and loved…_

_But now?_

_I feel __**humiliated**__.  
__You only use me to threaten your silly friends or to clean your finger- and toenails – and I __**really**__ don't like that. You should wash yourself more, Antonio. With actual soap._

_(No, you can't use a tomato. It's not soap. No, it isn't.)_

_And the worst of all is…  
_… _you are __**betraying**__ me._

_With that annoying, cheeky, __**I want to cut his head off so badly**__ brat Romano._

_Yes, I've seen it all! I've heard it all, too! You __**cruel beast**__, you don't even have the decency to put me out of the room whenever you two are getting it on, selfish __**bastard**__!  
__Do you have any idea how many tears I have shed because of your unfaithfulness __**and how many times I've tried to chop little Roma's head off whenever you had your back turned to me? He acts a bit weird lately, right? Right? Hooray for aichmophobia!~**_

_But anyway…  
__  
I've had enough of you, so I'm going back to my mother.  
__She was right about you and your tendercies to break hearts like **babyskulls, OH GOD.** _

_Goodbye, my __**egoistic jerk **__Spain…_

_Yours truly,_

_The War Axe._

_PS., say hi to __**the red-faced asshole **__Roma for me, okay?^^_

**Xxx**

Antonio stared at the letter for a couple of seconds.

So… she was really gone. His axe… was _gone_. God.

_Oh GOD. _He groaned and ran a hand through his hair in silent frustration, his other hand crumbling the piece of paper.

Why? Why now? How… how could she _do_ this to him?

Antonio sighed. Oh well.

Maybe he could borrow France's hedge cutter.

_

* * *

_**Aichmophobia = Fear of sharp and pointy objects.**

_*flees*_


End file.
